


Understood

by TuppingLiberty



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, BDSM Scene, Bisexual Reese, Dildos, Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Negotiated kink, New Relationship, Phone Sex, Possibly Asexual Finch, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: They continue to dance around the subject for a few weeks, they way the dance around everything. Left foot forward, right food side, and they’re waltzing. A statement here, a small flirtation there, and it’s a foxtrot.Reese and Finch start a not-so-standard Dom/sub relationship.Please note: I just started watching this show, and I'm only seven episodes in, so any character development after that will not be reflected here. I would also very much appreciate that if you decide to leave a comment, you leave them spoiler-free. :)
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	Understood

It starts, maybe, because Reese is used to having Finch in his ear all the time. It was probably inevitable that Finch would happen to get in contact with him at the extremely inopportune moment when he’s got his hand on his cock, thinking of Zoe’s quirky little smile. 

Even more inevitable that Finch would immediately understand the breathiness in his voice, the bitten back groan as he releases his dick to try and focus on Finch’s information. 

“I can let you finish your current business if you need to,” Finch had said, that teasing lilt in his voice that makes Reese alternately smile or roll his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Reese had bitten out, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. It’s not like he hadn’t gone without before. He’d deny himself again, if someone’s life was on the line. 

“Maybe we should have a signal. Some sort of digital ‘sock on the door,’ so to speak,” Finch suggests the next time they meet at the diner. He’s got that hint of a smile that somehow manages to get under Reese’s skin. 

“Not necessary. I’ll just...refrain.” 

If Reese isn’t mistaken, and it’s not like he ever is, Finch’s eyes flare a little with interest at that. Fascinating. He can’t help but poke at it. “What about yourself? I’d hate to break up an interesting evening for you.” 

Finch’s lips press together in a thin line before he relaxes and lifts up his cup of tea stiffly. “You don’t have to worry about that. I have particular interests. They’re not served easily, so I...refrain as well.” 

They continue to dance around the subject for a few weeks, they way the dance around everything. Left foot forward, right food side, and they’re waltzing. A statement here, a small flirtation there, and it’s a foxtrot.

It takes a bit for the music to swell, to break open and reveal the rest of the dance, but when it does…

They’re in the library, Reese’s tie hanging loose around his neck as he leans back in one of the chairs. It’s been a rough 24 hours, protecting an admirable high school history teacher only to get stabbed in the back. Finch is clacking away at a keyboard, adding the latest information into their file on Elias. Reese watches for a moment, then shrugs his suit coat off and tosses it on one of the library’s desks. Rolls his sleeve up to find the bruise he’d sustained that day. He’s used to seeing his flesh like this, a myriad of cuts and bruises, yellow and purple and blue and green. It doesn’t bother him, not anymore. He presses his thumb into it, testing the tenderness and pain, letting it lick inside him. 

Finch rolls his chair around to look at him, that mouth pinched into a thin line again, but his eyes wide and dark behind his glasses. Reese meets his steady gaze with his own - the one he’s used to intimidate criminals into talking. It just makes Finch’s lips quirk slightly in the briefest possible smile. 

“You know what I think?” 

Reese keeps staring at him. “I could take that question in a million different directions, Finch.” 

Finch rolls a little closer, so they’re practically touching knees. “I think you like it. The pain.” 

The waltz again, then, or maybe it’s a swing dance this time. “Is there a problem if I do?” 

Finch gives an infuriating little twitch of his shoulder that amounts to a shrug considering his broken back. “It certainly suits the purposes of our mission.” 

Reese leans forward, resting his chin on his fists. “Is that all?” 

“Always so clever with your interrogation techniques, Mr. Reese.” Finch stays upright in his chair, but Reese feels like they’re being drawn together. “So you like the pain. I can see you manage that...urge...safely.” 

Reese blinks, actually surprised for the briefest of moments before he puts the pieces all together. “Have you done it before?” 

Finch settles back into his chair stiffly, his hands gripping at the arms. “Extensively. I...like control.” 

Reese wants to snort but doesn’t. 

“You might imagine that I have...trouble with executing some of the physicalities properly.” Finch’s fingers flex on the arms of the chair, then grip again. “That hasn’t made my interest in it wane.” He lets Reese absorb that. “You, however, seem to do an admirable job of hurting yourself. Quite frequently, I might add.” 

Reese scratches over the scruff on his cheeks, considering. 

“And you do,” Finch starts, impossibly soft, “seem to have a penchant for following orders almost as much as you enjoy disobeying them.” He reaches out, stopping just short of letting his hand touch Reese’s. 

Reese feels a little spike of adrenaline work through his system. _Excitement._ He tightens his jaw, then lowers his hand and leans forward, letting the back of Finch’s hand touch his cheek. A surrender he can’t seem to give in words. 

Finch’s eyes brighten behind his glasses, and he uncurls his fingers, cupping Reese’s cheeks. His palm is slightly cold, but it warms quickly against Reese’s skin. “We’re going to have to look over some paperwork. Wills and won’ts. Hard nos.” 

Reese swallows, his dry throat catching. “And if I don’t think I can be what you need? I don’t break.” 

Finch gives him one of his rare smiles. “I don’t need you to break, Mr. Reese. Indeed, I quite like the fact that you’re unbreakable.”

He can’t pinpoint what it is about Finch’s voice that makes his blood rush to various parts of his body, but that calm voice coming over the earpiece to tell him to kneel at the foot of his bed makes him shiver. He lets out a shaky breath. “Done.” 

“Very good, Mr. Reese.” 

He can hear Finch pacing, his cane making a rhythmic thump as he goes.

“Stroke yourself until you’re hard.” 

His body strains against complying, his mind fighting against submission. The push and pull means that his cock is already half-hard by the time he wraps his palm around it. He blows out a breath, holding back a groan, holding back any sound. It takes exactly three strokes for Reese’s cock to rise stiff against his stomach, and then he forces himself to pull his hand away. 

“You will not come without my permission.” 

Reese feels his heart thump especially hard even as his cock leaks. “Understood.”

“So disciplined. I wonder how long I could leave you here like this.” 

“Do it,” Reese dares, partially to hear the soft catch in Finch’s voice. 

“I won’t leave you.” A quiet reprimand more than anything. “Your discipline isn’t what I want to test anyway. We both know you’d outlast me.” That dry humor again. “I want to see how quickly I can make you beg to come, instead.” 

Reese’s breath catches before he can stop it, and he knows, he just _knows_ Finch is smirking at him on the other end of the line. 

“Take the lube, and stretch yourself open for me. One finger for now, I’ll tell you when you can move up.” 

“Understood,” Reese repeats, reaching for the supplies near him. 

He rests one arm against the side of the bed, pillowing his forehead there as he reaches behind to follow Finch’s instructions. It feels slightly foreign; it’s been a long, long time. There’s the burn he remembers as he works one finger around his rim, stretching himself. 

“You make the most interesting sounds.” 

Reese catches himself, surprised. If anyone had asked, he’d’ve sworn he’d spent the last few minutes in silence, focusing on his finger and the sound of Finch’s breath over the line. “I-”

“Add another finger,” Finch commands, cutting off anything Reese might say. And he knows he could color out if he wanted, use a safeword that would have Finch putting an end to the whole thing, but he _likes_ that Finch didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. He _likes_ that Finch is making him add another finger when the first still burns. 

He leans into his arm on the bed, and lets his body hum through the pain. It’s so little compared to basically everything else he’s felt in his life, and the feeling nearly overwhelms him, knowing that Finch is the one giving it to him. 

Finch takes him quickly up to three, then four, and even then, it’s not enough to brush over his prostate. But he needs the stretch to fit the dildo Finch wants him to fuck himself with. A monster, bigger than anything he’s ever taken before, attached to the wall and waiting for him. 

He shudders when Finch orders him onto it, when it starts stretching him wide. His fingers bite into the floor as he breathes through it, his cock dripping on the towel Finch had so graciously instructed him to put down. 

“Slowly, now. We don’t want you hurting yourself.” 

Once again, Reese has to hold himself back from scoffing. The dildo splitting him open helps with that, though. He breathes through pushing back completely onto it, his stomach muscles clenching, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

“And now?” he manages, trying to keep his voice calm and even. 

“And now, Mr. Reese, I want you to fuck yourself as hard as I know you can.” 

The words, the intent behind them, that’s what gets Reese more than the fucking dildo up his ass. He breathes out, setting a pace, letting himself build up. Each glide of the head over his prostate spikes pleasure through him, through his limbs, and he finds, all of a sudden, that he doesn’t _want_ to be disciplined. He doesn’t _want_ to hold back right now. The sound that comes from his throat is half-groan, half-shout, Finch’s accompanying short gasp more than he needs to push himself straight to the edge. 

But he can’t- “I can’t,” he whispers on a sob of breath. 

“Can’t what, Mr. Reese?” Finch’s voice is soft, comforting. Clinical, almost. 

“Can’t beg.” 

Silence on the line, and Reese’s breath catches. 

His door opens and closes softly with a quiet click, and Finch’s cane thumps across the floor over to him. He looks up from his hands and knees, as naked as Finch is clothed, and shudders when Finch runs his fingers through his sweaty hair. 

Finch pulls at it, the pinpricks of pain clearing out some of Reese’s haze and sending him higher. 

Reese can’t bring himself to repeat it, but Finch’s hand softens. “Come for me, Mr. Reese,” he orders, as if he’s asking Reese to track down information on their latest number. 

Reese shoves his hips back, using the dildo on his prostate, and wraps his hand around his cock. It seems like no time passes before he’s worked himself beyond the edge, euphoria crashing through him as his cock spills all over the towel. 

He sags down to the floor, narrowly avoiding the mess as he slips off the dildo. He stays there for a minute, panting, catching his breath, before Finch enters his field of vision again. “I need you to stand, Mr. Reese, and get on the bed, so I can clean you up.” 

Reese’s body responds automatically. He’s used to pushing beyond limits, beyond expectations. Still, he doesn’t quite remember the trip from floor to bed, only really coming to when Finch is sitting stiffly beside him, wiping him with a warm, soothing cloth. Reese watches him through half-lidded eyes, almost asleep, and that’s why, he thinks, Finch lets out his full smile. Approval washes over him just like the warm blanket Finch awkwardly wraps around him. 

He can’t lie beside him, Reese knows, but it’s just as good when Finch sits with his back resting against the headboard, Reese burrito’d up against his leg, Finch’s fingers running through his hair. 

“I didn’t follow your directions,” Reese eventually murmurs.

“Not this time.” 

The promise of future play makes Reese smile. 

“Besides, I’ve gotten used to you disobeying orders. You make quite a habit of it. In the scene, they might call you something of a brat.” Finch's lips quirk up. “I happen to like brats.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was an okay offering for the fandom. My friend just got me into Person of Interest on day 1 of social distancing. 
> 
> Speaking of, wash your hands! :)
> 
> Finally, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Again, I'm only on season 1 episode 7, so please no spoilers.
> 
> oh! One last thing. As I'm new to the fandom, I'd love Dom/sub recs for Finch and Reese if you have any. I can save them for when I'm finished so they don't have to be spoiler free, but I'd love any recs.


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